


making islands where no island should go

by crediniaeth



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Drugs, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-07
Updated: 2009-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crediniaeth/pseuds/crediniaeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was for an audition, this outfit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	making islands where no island should go

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Transatlanticism" by Death Cab For Cutie.

It was for an audition, this outfit. The dress, the cone-shaped hat, the filmy veil… it was for an audition.

I swear.

I read my lines. They thanked me. They let me go.

I stand in the lobby waiting for the elevator. The lobby was full of people, moreso than usual. Believe me; I've waited for this elevator more times than I could count.

The doors open. I gather handfuls of the fabric that made up my skirt and enter. I turn around to face the doors.

And there you were. Across the lobby.

You stare back at me. You smile.

I wave you over. You fight your way through the crowd. You catch the door just in time.

"Something medieval, I'm guessing?"

I smile. "You could say that."

You extend your hand. "I'm Chris."

"Nice to meet you, Chris."

\--

There's a lot of coffee after that, but never Starbucks. You show me your favorite places, your hidden haunts.

I never show you where I live. I always have you drop me off a few blocks away. There's no reason to show you where I live – an illegal sublet. There's no reason for you to meet my roommates, an art student and a crackhead. I don't want to shatter whatever notion you have in your head about me.

You don't ask, but a part of me wishes you would. I hate lying by omission.

\--

Click.

Click.

Click.

She takes picture after picture. Of me taking away his pipe. His rock. His lighter.

Of him lying motionless on the living room sofa.

I turn. "What the fuck are you doing? Why don't you help me?"

She doesn't answer. The only sound that comes from her corner is the artificial sound of her camera's shutter.

Standing over the kitchen sink, I add my tears to the water that's washing that… filth away.

I don't know why I do it, because I know that won't stop him. I do it because I remember. I remember the boy he was, all wide eyed and pure and clean, before the city got to him.

There's a knock at the door.

Knowing her and her selfishness, I wipe away the tears and go to answer the door.

Click.

Click.

Click.

And there you are.

"You followed me."

\--

"You don't have to stay there, you know."

You say this as you open your front door. I follow, because that's the only thing I can do. I follow you to your spare room. It's white and honey and cozy and… you.

You set my bag down on the bed. You watch me.

I smile. A half smile. Anything to try to show you that –

"I'm okay. Really. I am."

"No, you're not. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not… it's difficult to explain."

"I'm not going anywhere."

\--

I stand in your kitchen, coffee mug held securely in both my hands. I haven't been back there in two weeks. I feel worse than I did the day I left. Left the both of them there.

I left him there. He could be dead for all I know.

But if I go back, I'll never leave.

I hear your footsteps on the tile. You stand behind me, looking out the window. Head on my shoulder. Your hands around my waist.

"How fresh is that?"

"Like I'm gonna drink day-old drip, Chris."

You smile. "Have to ask, sweetheart."

I smile, watching your reflection in the glass. "Just finished brewing."

"Fantastic."

Instead of reaching past me for a mug, you take your hand and slide it under my shirt. I can't help but breathe in sharply as your fingers play with a nipple, bringing it to painful hardness.

I also don't expect your other hand to slip down past the elastic band of my lounge pants, past the thin cotton of my underwear, and down even further. Further than I anticipated.

Setting the coffee down as carefully as I can, I… enjoy. I feel. I love the way that your body aligns itself to mine. The way that you… hold me. Like I'm the most important thing in the world.

I feel you reciprocate in kind, the outline of your cock against my ass a reminder of something else that needs to be taken care of… so I do. Rocking slightly on the balls of my feet, I hear you moan in my ear.

I'm obviously doing something right.

Before I know it, I'm facing you. Pinned against your body and the kitchen counter. You cup my face in your hand and kiss me, distracting me as you try to tear away the fabric that hindered you earlier.

Coordination isn't your strong suit. At least not right now.

My hands are free, amazingly enough, so I help. It's not long before both of us are naked at the waist, puddles of plaid at our feet. You lift me up onto the counter, and you stop.

There's a question in your eyes. I answer with a nod.

"I wouldn't have let you go this far if I didn't want you to, Chris."

And there you are.

Inside. All around. It's everything I could have imagined.

I hold on for dear life. I wrap myself around you. Staring into those blue eyes of yours as you stare into mine, I see… affection. Lust. Love. Friendship.

Everything I should see. Everything that I want to see.

I find myself overwhelmed with my own orgasm. You come saying my name over and over again like a benediction. Like something sacred that only the two of us are meant to hear.

Your last thrust causes me to shift the wrong way, and the brown ceramic mug that was once my freshly brewed cup of coffee falls to the floor with a loud crash.

You stare back at me and laugh. I can't help but chime in and lean my face into the crook of your neck.

You pull back. "Hold on."

And you mean it. You lift me off the counter and take me back to your bedroom. The darkness provided by the blinds still prevails, contrasting the golden hues that surrounded us moments before. Setting me down on the floor, you kiss me. "I'll be right back. Stay here."

I do, and you return, but not before I hear the quite chimes of ceramic being swept up into plastic.

I smile. "All that coffee gone to waste. I'm sorry."

You stand next to me. You guide me to the bed and under the covers. You follow behind.

"I'm not."


End file.
